


Cursed in Eternity

by Mother_North



Category: Mayhem (Band), Music RPF
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Anal Sex, Animal Abuse, Dark, First Time, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Memories, POV First Person, Psychology, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, References to Depression, Self-Harm, Strangulation, Swearing, Unhealthy Relationships, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 11:07:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13546095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mother_North/pseuds/Mother_North
Summary: Euronymous walks the woods one-on-one with his memories where a certain blond-haired vocalist from Sweden reigns supreme.





	Cursed in Eternity

**Author's Note:**

> This work is an English translation of my own fic under the same title. Its original text is written in Russian a while ago and it can be found among my works if needed.  
> Usual RPF disclaimer applies to this fic which is a product of author’s own (twisted?) imagination.  
> Enjoy.

**

**POV Euronymous**

_Cold._

I can feel it. Its chilling presence is unmistakably here — even at the dawn, when bleak disk of the sun is rising lazily above a foggy line of the horizon. Just one breath and the forest fills me up to the brim with its scent; it doesn’t ask whether you want it or not, it doesn’t wait for your permission — it permeates quietly yet inevitably into your very core, your lungs being flooded with fresh woody flavor. I would have never thought that such things are still of any significance to me, being able to touch _something_ _deep inside,_ which, as it turns out, seems to be miraculously alive… To tell the truth, I considered it long gone, ever since that fateful day in early April of 1991.

 _That day_.

I can remember it like it was just yesterday. It’s not surprising at all that the day which had altered me forever turned out to be a truly memorable one. Sometimes it seems to me that it was not you but _me_ who had died then. A part of me has surely died and even more— a better one, obviously. I look in the mirror and see a layer of white with patches of black, a corpsepaint to hide something rotting beneath its monochrome veneer. I don’t want to know what my own masque disguises but I have no other choice than to face _it_ on a daily basis.

Do I feel any kind of remorse? Do I consider myself guilty of your deed? No. Not in the slightest, definitely not. I wanted you to belong to me completely but you decided otherwise. I have to say I am still mad at you for this.

 _Fucking bastard_. You got your own way. It was awfully egoistic of you —  _depriving me of yourself_.

I have always been utterly frank with myself and that’s why it’s not hard to confess that I have liked hurting you immensely. It was my prime pleasure excluding, perhaps, only the process of making music itself. However, there was some sort of certain creativity to it too: I harassed you day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year…

I was making you become the one I myself had never dared to be. Your pursuit of self-destruction enthralled me. I knew that if someone of the two of us was destined to die in this wild flame, it was going to be you. You’ll be the kindling to a fire I’ll be basking at.

You were so sensitive and susceptible, so vulnerable and assailable. At times you were just as ridiculous as a heap of skulls or caricature monsters in one of your drawings which often looked like they were done by a hand of a sickly child. You were defenseless against each of my words, frequently not even trying to confront me, choosing to retreat into your inner shell instead.

But there were a few exceptions, of course, like that one time when you attacked me with a knife. The cut was not deep, my rage and indignation being the best anesthetics. But I felt your breath so close then, tickling the skin of my neck. The sensation was far more acute than just ordinary pain and it was no less physical.

Your nearness and raw anger, which you were emanating at that moment, made something short-circuit inside me. The switch had flipped and everything went so terribly wrong between us since then. I remember cutthroat hurt in your blue eyes, though they seemed almost dark because of their dilated pupils. You were breathing hard, trying to hold the knife firmly in your visibly shaking fingers. You looked like an entity from another plane of existence, like a ghostly apparition which had returned from the other side — all deathly pale and shivering from rage.

But you have always wanted to look just like that anyway, haven’t you..?

You were terrifyingly beautiful then and I hit you hard. I wanted to smash into pieces this mirage, to dispel this momentarily delusion. Pain contorted your face, thin lips tinting red. You lost your initial audacious vim, sagging immediately as if some kind of a hidden chord controlling you had been cut abruptly, a seemingly forgotten knife sliding out of your grip and clacking loudly against the tiles on the floor. I pushed you forcefully and the thing I wanted most in the world was to grab you by the hair and shatter that porcelain face of yours against a nearby wall. But it was Jørn who came at your rescue, as always.

Jørn the Defender. The Always-ready-to choose-your-side Jørn. Jørn the Omnipresent. Jørn who used to consider himself your good friend, though I knew that you had never considered him as one.

“Are you fucking nuts, Øystein?!”

“If someone is truly nuts here then it’s obviously him! Fucking psycho…You let go of me, now!”

I was trying to free myself from Jørn’s grip while you just slid down the wall, hunkering and hugging yourself tightly like a little boy, who felt offended that his toy had been taken away from him. In your case “favorite toy” had to mean a knife — always and the sharper the better.

“That’s enough, Jørn! It’s not funny anymore. Let me go! Immediately! ” At last he obeyed and I noticed red marks from his strong fingers were starting to form on the skin of my wrists, which he had been holding forcibly just mere moments ago. The room was silent except for our ragged breathing.

Yet, a far more unexpected discovery was waiting for me: I‘ve realized that I had a raging hard-on.

Now, while looking back, I understand that it was a turning point, the very moment when I had to just throw you out of the band, without even bothering with any kind of plausible explanations. I should have said that you could return to your blasted Sweden, that you were a constant source of irritation, that you were one hell of a shitty vocalist and that your lyrics sucked big time, adding that you were a sore loser, who had been severely bullied at school for a good reason…But I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Instead I locked up in my bedroom and masturbated furiously, biting down the edge of a quilt to suppress moaning. Your pale face and bloody lips were emerging behind my closed eyelids again and again while your painful groan was sounding faintly in my ears.

It felt like something stunningly new and confusing at once, being both beautiful and shameful at the same time. And from now on I started imagining the face of a same sex vocalist of my own band in my erotic fantasies.

It was frustrating. It was weird and I hated you for this. Twofold.

Our hassles became more frequent. I was criticizing you nonstop during band’s practice sessions, always finding faults and never failing to choose the most insulting words. I was implacable and even a long-suffering and ever patient Jørn began casting me strange side glances.

“What the heck is wrong with you, Euro, huh? He is really giving it all, don’t you see?”

Oh, but I _did_ see. I saw more than you could have ever possibly imagined, my dense Jørn. For instance, I saw how his narrow hips were swaying to the rhythm of a song or a tiny sobbing breath he took right before screaming his lungs out inextricably. I saw the way he rolled his eyes and, as his head was thrown back in a practically frantic seizure, my eyes were inevitably drawn to his long neck with its pallid tender skin. His hands were moving pretentiously: impossibly slender fingers weaving invisible spells through the air and I couldn’t get enough of the vision.

Damn you, Pelle. I wanted you desperately while despising myself viciously for it. Sometimes I asked myself why it had to be you of all people, for fuck’s sake…? Perhaps, it was your grim, pathetical and thoroughly intoxicating insanity that attracted me to no end. You were never capable of stopping, being always ready to reach the very edge. You were never afraid to cross the line. It was just the way you were.

One day I saw you with your hands covered in fresh blood. Not that it shocked me in the slightest because I knew that self-mutilation was very much to your liking. But I’ve realized pretty quickly that it was _not_ your own blood that particular time.

Looking over your bony shoulder I saw a gory red fur-ball on the table — a little corpse of a guinea pig, already dissected with a typical meticulousness of yours. I have to admit the sight was nauseating and after swallowing down a repugnant lump I turned my eyes to you. We were standing close enough, a distance between us almost non-existent. I could feel you practically radiating arousal: visibly blown pupils, heavy erratic breathing, half-opened lips, a thin sheen of sweat on your forehead and temples, stupefying odor of heated skin and a smile which had made me go weak at the knees, albeit for a fleeting second. 

 _You_ _sick_ _fuck_.

I felt repulsion mixing itself bizarrely with an intense want. You unmistakably read it in my eyes. You saw everything the very moment our glances met. Your wicked smile widened as your hand snaked brazenly between our bodies, touching yourself _there_ while closing your eyelids and groaning deeply, your lips— a pale thin line. I wanted to punch you in the face badly, so that the tiny wound on your split lip would open and start bleeding again. I wanted to grab your chin roughly and kiss you violently, so that a copper taste of your blood would be tingling on my tongue. But I didn’t dare to and the moment was lost.  

I took several steps backwards and then you were already gone, leaving me alone with a dead guinea pig and a pressing erection. But I realized that you would be mine one day, you wouldn’t run away and you wouldn’t deny or resist me and, if I were persistent enough, you wouldn’t tell a single soul. I simply had to wait for a perfect moment to claim you and so I did just that.

There was nothing special about the way that particular day had begun. In the morning Jørn announced to everyone that his girlfriend was pregnant and that he had to spend more time with her from now on. He said he was leaving for at least a couple of days to be with her. Jan had gone to Oslo the day before, allegedly for an important meeting, but I was positively sure that he just wanted to get away from me and my total control and to get drunk with some cheap swill in a seedy bar. I wasn’t, to put it mildly, very fond of his alcoholic inclination and I reprehended him harshly every time he got lost. He listened because it was his only option.

The thing is that everyone should know his place. Rules and boundaries set by me were for no one to violate or one would have to deal with the corresponding consequences. There’s no other way around in _my band_. So it has always been, so it is and so it will be.

After finishing his stupid babbling about private affairs (in which I wasn’t interested at all, except for the fact, that the precarious situation with his bitch of a girlfriend meant that he had to spend less time rehearsing and I had to find a way to deal with it somehow in the future) Necrobutcher had finally shut up.

I stared straight at you: you were slouching on a chair, hiding your face behind a veil of long hair, like you always did. Silence seemed to drag endlessly.

“Today is the day. It will happen today.”

I remember the thought flashing vividly in my head in the most natural and matter-of-factly of ways. We’ll stay alone, the whole house at our disposal and my _necrolust_ (you are Dead, after all) will be quenched at last.

It was getting dark early on that time of year and nightfall was descending quickly over the top of trees, their bare trunks surrounding the ominously looking house. I saw Jørn off to the bus stop and after I made sure that he had indeed departed, I walked back swiftly. My mind hadn’t been this crystal- clear for a long time and even the thought of me fucking you hard in reality and not in one of my twisted fantasies didn’t scare or embarrass me at all.  

As I neared the house with no light in any of dark windows, I found the door to be locked unsurprisingly. I took the keys out of my pocket, noticing that my fingers were trembling slightly from anticipation. A stifling quietness and impenetrable darkness greeted me upon entering.

“Pelle?” The only answer was creaking of wooden floorboards beneath my steps, though I had no doubt you heard me perfectly.

“Dead?” Still not a single sound as I climbed the stairs, heading to your room.

_A stubborn, farouche idiot._

Smiling amusingly, I knocked twice politely before pressing the door with my shoulder. It gave in easily.

“Per? It’s me. I’ve already returned. Jørn has gone away and now there are only the two of us in here… ” My own voice sounded unnaturally timid all of a sudden.

I saw you lying on a bed with your back towards the door in total darkness. I didn’t turn on a bedside lamp and without uttering a single word I sank to the bed behind you cautiously. It seemed to me that you flinched momentarily and I knew you weren’t sleeping no matter how hard you tried to make me believe that you actually did. There’s no point in trying, Dead, I won’t be led astray easily. I noticed your unnerved state because of your uneven breathing and because your shoulders looked extremely tense.

I bent down, my face right next to the back of your head, and after putting your long blond hair aside, I inhaled deeply. Each single one of the smallest details is etched into my memory as if it all had happened just yesterday.  And your peculiar scent. I’ll never be able to forget it. No, it wasn’t an obnoxious stench of a decaying flesh or of your beloved rotting carrion…

Your body has never smelled of death, Dead, no matter how hard you tried.

Your skin smelled of something hardly distinguishable, yet sweet, and you emanated a rather humanly heat. My lips touched your nape gingerly and you jolted, a quite peculiar sound escaping you. It was a vulnerable and a barely audible whimper which made my underbelly heavy with stinging arousal as I moved to you from behind closely, making my intentions absolutely apparent. You didn’t try to get away, lying there silently and having seemingly forgotten how to breathe. You looked like a little trapped animal and I liked your quiet submissiveness, _my pet_ Dead.

No amount of resistance would be enough to stop me and you understood this pretty well. My hand slid down deliberately, over your pajama pants (the ones with a stupid pattern of merrily prancing deer) and squeezed roughly your protruding hipbone through the worn fabric. I wanted badly to tear those ridiculous pants off and, after making you lie down on your stomach, take you forcefully at once. Even though I was aware of a tremendous pain it would cause you I didn’t really give a flying fuck. My heart was beating wildly in my chest and I was almost suffocating from the flooding excitement.

Suddenly you turned onto your back and I felt your intent gaze boring through me in spite of the darkness. You didn’t appear to be confused and there was no visible trace of abashment on your face.

“ _Hard_. ”

Just one word, whispered so unbelievably quiet I almost thought I had misheard it.

“ _Hard._ _Do it hard_.”

Breath caught in my throat and an electrifying shiver ran down my spine. It was one of the very few instances when I granted your desire unquestioningly.

Grabbing your impossibly thin wrists and securing them in a hold above your head, I pressed you into the shaky bed with all of my weight. I wanted to meld with you…No…I wanted to fill you up with myself without a remnant, I wanted to possess you and to subdue you, so that you would stop existing as a separate entity, if only for the briefest of blissful moments.

Well, it definitely looked like you didn’t mind that much. I showered your long neck with hungry open-mouthed kisses and touches of my lips were devoid of any semblance of gentleness as you threw your head back giving more space to my brute caresses. After a little struggle, you managed to free your hands from my grip and now I could feel your short nails dig into my forearms painfully or stroke my back tentatively with their feathery touches. I bit the tender skin of your neck and I heard you hiss under your breath excitedly.

Soon I felt your hands fumbling with a metallic buckle of my black jeans. My fingers pinched your pert nipple hard as I was licking a mark my teeth had previously left on one of your collarbones. As your eager fingers had finally reached their destination, I couldn’t suppress a moan and I felt goosebumps all over my skin. You knew what you were doing and it looked like you were far from being inexperienced at it.

“Oh, fuck, Dead…”

You huffed smugly. I let myself loosen control for a little while as my body was giving in to potent pleasure. I rolled up your ridiculously big t-shirt and marveled at how scarily thin you were. My fingers were sliding down your sides and then over your flat stomach, continuing their shameless exploration. I felt your body arching up from beneath and a gnawing desire inside me lit anew. I twisted your sensitive nipples forcibly and a loud moan escaped your bitten lips. Pain always turned you on greatly and I knew it from the very start.

Patience was not one of my main features and I yanked your pajama pants down roughly. I sent them flying across the room, your annoying t-shirt following the same path shortly afterwards.

Reality around us seemingly ceased to exist — this damned room with its insipid walls, dark silhouettes of trees, white snow and wind that wailed outside… Everything was drifting somewhere indescribably far, at the periphery of my consciousness. I thought that if the room’s door would burst open all of a sudden and Jørn with Jan would come in, I wouldn’t care at all or that if the whole population of fucking Kråkstad would be watching us I wouldn’t give a damn.

You were lying absolutely naked and totally unprotected, spread right before me. Your vulnerability was just as alluring as a milky tone of your extremely pale skin. I wanted to ravish and excruciate you, mixing pleasure and pain in various proportions in the most exasperating of ways possible. The notion of unnaturalness and prohibition of what I was about to do to you was making me heady. You were at my complete command and all of the unbridled power was making my head spin.

With my hands shaking slightly I made you open your legs and settled between them impatiently. You tensed visibly and a rhythm of your breathing sped up in an obviously panicked manner. Feeling my wet from saliva forefinger at a place where you had never been touched before, you jerked harshly.

I touched your cheekbone with my thumb delicately and pulled your golden hair away from your sweaty forehead. I whispered quietly, our broken breaths mingling:

“You need to relax. It’s necessary.”

I saw hesitation spilled at the bottom of your widened eyes, you swallowed convulsively and tried to crawl away with your hands jostling me away, albeit too weakly.

“Øystein…I don’t…I never…Please…”  It sounded pathetic and it could never make me stop.

Too late. It’s too late to back down, Dead. The point of no return was already behind us.

Holding your narrow hips in place and not letting you move, your feverishly whispered pleas falling on deaf ears, I penetrated you forcefully in one sharp motion.

I remember your broken cry and a rush of overwhelming pleasure that swept my whole body. My vision tunneled as your hot, fluttering tightness clenched me so greedily, so perfectly.

 You were _immaculate_ at that particular lust-ridden moment, Dead.

After several long minutes I started to move, the unmistakable wetness easing my deliberate thrusts. Your cries echoed in the stillness of the room and I could hear you swearing in your native Swedish.

All of this was of no real significance, for I had only one desire— to never stop. You were a sobbing, quivering mess beneath me and I had no doubt that your pallid cheeks were moist from tears. Leaning down, I licked each one of them, one after the other, and they tasted strangely sweet.

_Mine_ _._

“You are mine! You hear me?!” I hissed darkly into your ear, biting down your earlobe hard enough to draw blood.

You didn’t resist anymore and just took what I had to give: passive and immovable in my fierce embrace. You reminded me of a lifeless, fragile mannequin and if not for your feeble painful keening, I would have thought you had fainted.

Suddenly your whole body became tense as a bowstring, your eyes flying open as your chest was heaving erratically. You arched up off the bedcovers and gasped madly.

“Øystein…Argh… Øystein…” A hoarse drawn-out moan left you and it was _not of pain alone_ obviously.

It seemed I had found the right angle at last and I resumed my thrusting, which was verging on violent, as I was feeling that I wouldn’t be able to last long. You were wriggling beneath me, withering from torturous and hardly bearable sensations of acute, blinding pleasure. You moaned wantonly and I could swear not a single whore I had fucked before had been louder…

_You were such a little slut, Dead._

_My slut._

With your head put back and your long golden hair streaming across the pillow, you embodied a vision of extreme unreserved ecstasy at that moment and I tried to etch it into my mind, to have it imprinted there for years and years to come.

Our movements soon became frantic and I felt myself drowning, the intensity of our shared sensations being almost too much. You begged me not to stop with an unhealthy, masochistic ardor in your husky voice — your never-ending broken “ _more_ ” playing in my head like a stuck record, evoking something savage deep within me.

My hands closed around your pale neck as if on pure instinct and I squeezed hard enough to make you gasp desperately. I felt your fingers dig into my wrist, making me tighten my grip even more. Your eyes rolled up and with a silent scream you reached your climax.

It looked as though you had nearly died while coming and I bet you wouldn’t have minded if you really did.

A wave of achingly strong orgasm crushed me after a couple of shallow thrusts and I followed you thoughtlessly into a searing oblivion.

 An abyss opened up in front of us, our reckless digression doomed from the very beginning.

**  

I went outside twice while you were asleep in the next three days. I went to a local telephone-booth: the first time it was to call my parents and the second time it was to call my then girlfriend.

I didn’t have any regrets and I didn’t feel even an ounce of guilt or remorse. What was meant to be happened and there was nothing much to dwell on. That’s all it is, really.

Perhaps, it’s weird but I didn’t feel that we had become any closer to each other or that I had started to understand your whimsical personality any better. You didn’t let me break through your inner barriers, as cautious about guarding your personal space as ever. We were total opposites, both staying on a different wavelength practically all of the time. You often found refuge in a kind of a special place, a mystical plane of existence — your stare being glassy and your countenance lost somewhere between the worlds.

But, speaking metaphorically, you were the only mortal to know a secret route there.

Not that I wanted to plunge into the depths of your fucked up, crippled soul anyway. Using your body was enough for me. Even though we continued fucking like crazy we remained almost complete strangers to each other, barely speaking and keeping our ways separate except for rehearsals and time spent in bed.  

Over the time, I’ve learned your body perfectly, all of your sensitive spots being known to me like to no one else at this side of reality. I knew every single curve and line, all of your numerous scars and each protruding vertebra but you remained a total shut-in, a key to your essence lost apparently in the wilderness of your beloved Transylvania.

I recall how I was lying once, still trying to catch my breath, cheek resting against my hand tiredly. I was looking at already fading traces my own fingers had left all over your hips and inner thighs, the purplish spots blooming beautifully on your fair skin. I was thinking that they looked absolutely right and natural there, tainting your flesh — mute evidences of my perverse obsession with you. The thoughts of my unlimited power over you were just as intoxicating as they were toxic.

“Øystein?”  You croaked my name in a strangely alien manner.  

I looked up to meet your stern eyes.

“What?”

“ _I_ _hate_ _you_. I really do.”

My lips broke into a smile even though I could feel something involuntarily flinching inside.

“I can assure you the feeling is _mutual_ , moron.”   

It stung quite a bit in a totally surprising way and I could acknowledge it only now that you were gone. You did manage to slip through my fingers, after all. You escaped to the place where I wouldn’t be able to get you. You have chosen the most secure option. I got to hand it to you…

Fuck.

It hurts ridiculously severe that you are dead, Dead.

Look, the night has gone. It’s gone, don’t you see..? It has dissolved but you haven’t. You are in my thoughts constantly, plaguing my mere existence.

My fingers are sliding stubbornly into a pocket of my black denim to trace a smoothly polished surface of a bone. I trace its outlines tenderly only to clench it painfully hard in my fist till my knuckles turn white.

I close my eyes and see your image again and again, my memory recreating it with sadistic clarity: you are reclining on _that same bed_ in your room, stiff in death. You look like a broken, abandoned doll which had been forgotten by its master so cruelly. Cadaveric stupor is making your limbs and neck bend bizarrely and your skin is as white as a marble. There is a lot of coagulated blood and its shade is far darker than that of a stupid heart depicted on your once white t-shirt.

I wanted to capture you like this and so I did. You know I had to.

I can feel morning coldness creeping slowly down my spine, making me shiver. This damned bone-chilling cold is always with me and I know not of the remedy.

_Even though you are **there** , Dead, and I am not… _

_We are together now —_ _cursed in eternity._

**


End file.
